When I was 12, a family moved in a few houses away. I met Michelle first. She was my first big-time crush. I walked away from our first conversation across that chain-link fence convinced I was in love and going to marry her. (Oh, the whims of a 12 year old boy!)
Gradually I came to know Michelle's family. Her dad was in ministry. They joined our church. Her older brother, Mike, became my best friend, and was the best man in my wedding. There weren't many days between the fall of '78 and '83 that I wasn't at their house or they were at mine.
The mom and dad (Peggy and Wally) became my "other parents." Daryl, Yvonne, Mike and Michelle were my other siblings. I'm sure my memories are a bit idyllic, but honestly? Not much. They were, as Michelle said recently "our family, and we were theirs."
Daryl became best friends with my oldest brother, Rusty. When I was a senior in high school, they became interim youth co-pastors at our church. They were both involved in the music ministry. They sang in the Easter musical, playing the roles of Jesus (Daryl) and Peter (Rusty) in Joy Comes in the Morning. There's a scene near the end of that epic 80s cantata where the resurrected Jesus and ashamed Peter lock eyes and are reunited with a giant hug. I'll never forget seeing them become the characters and give all of us hope that we, too, can be fully reconciled with Jesus. Even after our sin.
As I wrote in a Facebook post yesterday, I learned what friendship could be watching my brother and his best friend. I imagine the epic Biblical friendship between David and Jonathan was a foreshadowing of their relationship.
Daryl was taking out the trash a few days ago, had a heart-attack, and died suddenly. He was 64.
It has called to my memory a bunch of things that might encourage us all toward Christ-likeness. You see, Daryl didn't just play Jesus in a play at church, he modeled (imperfectly, of course) our Savior in the every daily-ness of his life.
Daryl knew I needed help with how to talk to girls, how to say things kindly, and and how to be okay with myself. Daryl was probably the first person who could correct me in a way that made me want to be corrected. When I was feeling like I was a loser, he would speak hope into my soul. And when I didn't see any way out of a hard spot, he gave me perspective. I know now he was teaching me against binary thinking, to look for a third option.
In other words, Daryl was generous with encouragement and hope. He spoke wise correction into the life of this (temporarily) fatherless teenager. And he helped me see the big picture when I was lost in the weeds. I really want to be like Daryl.
Finally, Daryl was a song writer. In fact, he wrote a song our youth group fell in love with called "Ribbons and Bows." When I did my first recording project in a basement in Cincinnati Ohio, I asked him if I could include that song. Not only did he say yes, he played guitar for the cassette recording. (Man, I'm old!) But he didn't just play. He taught me how to behave in a setting that was new to me.
He did what he always did. He helped me think, feel, and act like Jesus.
In the ways Daryl was so generous with others, I wonder if Jesus may be calling you and me to be more that way.
For my songwriting friends, here's a bit of Daryl's much loved song, inspired by his ministry with teenage girls, about his future daughter(s):
Ribbons and bows, diapers and dolls,
That's my baby girl.
She's my whole world.
Growin' up fast,
This childhood won't last.
Who'll watch over her
When she's not my baby girl?
Will I love her enough to show her
That he cried for her,
Even died for her?
When the pain of life
Gets too tough for her
He'll comfort her,
Oh the comforter.
High school prom queen,
T-shirt and blue jeans.
We shared some tears
Through those teenage years.
Kids of her own, my how time has flown.
She's a woman now;
She survived somehow.
'Cause I loved her enough to show her
That he cried for her,
Even died for her.
And she can share
That Truth with her own son;
She can share the love
Of the Perfect One.